Le Diable
by Brunette
Summary: [three-part] In France in 1921, Beni Gabor was making his way stealing from unsuspecting churches and synagogues. But a strange series of events suddenly makes him a more permanent fixture at a Catholic church in a small, French village. Beni is sure he can work this con to his advantage and leave when the time is right...but he didn't anticipate the Laurent women.
1. un

_Author's Note: This is just a little idea that's been in the back of my mind and can't seem to leave me alone. I've always wanted to do a little story from the script's reason for Beni's internment in the Legion, and a three-part struck me as a low-fuss way to approach it._

_Dominique Laurent was taken from a brief mention in Amour Fou; I couldn't pass up the opportunity to use a character like her in this scenario._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The cover photo is "The Church at Auvers" by Vincent Van Gogh._

**_"Père" is French for "father," which is what French Catholics call a priest. It's pronounced like "pair."_**

_I tried to stick to French names that were easy to pronounce, but just in case:_

_Francois = /frawn-SWAW/  
Claude = /CLAWD/  
Jacques = /ZHAWK/  
Antoine = /an-TWAWN/  
Jean = /ZHAWN/  
Dominique = /dah-meh-NEEK/  
_

* * *

**Le Diable**

* * *

O'CONNELL. How'd a guy like you end up in the Legion anyways?

BENI. I got caught robbing a synagogue. Lots of good stuff in them holy places; churches, temples, mosques, and who's guarding them?

O'CONNELL. Altar boys?

BENI. Exactly!

_[_The Mummy_ script, Stephen Sommers]_

* * *

**un.**

_Auvers-sur-Oise, France: Easter Sunday, March 27, 1921_

The sun was just a little too warm and bright that morning - a little too bright and a little too hot for March, and Beni longed to loosen his collar. He shifted his weight where he stood in the alleyway, watching from the slight relief of the shadows as what was surely the entire village of Auvers-sur-Oise filed into the white brick church across the street. He desperately wanted a cigarette but wouldn't dare risk the flicker of a match. No one had noticed him yet, and with any luck, nobody would.

He leaned against the wall and waited. He waited for the bells in the tower to ring and the last tardy worshippers to rush through the door. He waited for the bells to stop, and for everything around him to settle in the sunlight. A young boy in knickers raced up the street, his skinny legs pumping as fast as they could as he rounded the church and found the back door. Beni smirked, watching him tug vainly at the door before muttering, _"Merde!"_ under his breath and quickly crossing himself. The boy tugged and tugged at the door in vain, and Beni glanced towards the front of the church one last time to be sure no one else was late to Mass before slipping out of the shadows. He crossed the cobbled street in a few long strides, his hand clutched protectively about his collar as he stole around back to where the boy was still pulling at the door.

"Is it locked?" he asked casually in French. The boy let out a yelp and whirled around, staring up at him with wide green eyes.

"Monseiur - " he started to say before noticing the stiff, white clerical collar under Beni's hand. He gulped. "Père - I - "

Beni stepped past him and took hold of the doorknob, twisting it and giving it a hard tug. Much to his relief, the warped wood gave and the door creaked open. He heard the boy sigh loudly in relief, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Oh, thank you, Père, thank you!" he breathed just before racing past Beni and into the church. Beni called him a rude little urchin in Hungarian and slipped in behind him, pulling the door closed as quietly as he could. He caught a glimpse of the boy trotting down the hallway and into a little room. Taking a breath, Beni straightened his shoulders and followed him.

As he suspected, the boy was hastily buttoning a white robe, his fingers trembling as he muttered curses and pleas for forgiveness. Beni wasn't one to miss the bright gold platter of communion wafers on the table in front of him, or the sparkling gold goblet of wine. Beni edged his way into the room, reaching behind his back for the pistol he'd tucked into his waistband, and he was about to tell the boy to keep quiet or he'd shoot, but something happened.

The door on the other end of the room opened, and a decrepit old priest lumbered in, his wooden peg leg betrayed by the heavy and unnatural tap of the thing against the floor where his shoe should have been. His deeply furrowed brow was wrinkled up in a severe scowl, and he was demanding where the boy had been all morning. He was telling him he should have been there fifteen minutes ago to carry the incense and -

"Who are you?" he demanded, catching a glimpse of Beni in the corner of the room.

Beni froze, scrambling to decide if he could fool this old priest with an excuse or if he was better off cutting his losses and making a run for it.

"I - I - I am Père Francois," he said with a nervous grin. "Didn't Monsignor tell you?"

The priest's eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a hard frown. "Monsignor Claude said nothing to me about a Père Francois."

Beni gulped, his fingers flexing around the butt of his pistol, working desperately through his fear-hazed mind to figure out what to do.

"What is that you have behind your back?" the priest asked suspiciously, taking a step towards him. His peg leg rang against the hard wood floor and Beni felt all the while like a startled animal in a trap. He could run for it - he could still run for it - but he had the collar and he had the gun -

He had the gun.

He started to pull the pistol out of his pants, a grim and confident smile on his face. He'd get out of here yet, and he'd have that shiny gold communion plate, too. The priest might have looked hard as granite, but he'd cooperate. Everyone always cooperated -

The priest took another step and his peg leg caught the corner of the boy's altar robe. And before Beni could even think to react, the priest had slipped and fallen hard on the floor, his head connecting with a crack that opened a dark bloody gash. The boy let out a scream and the priest didn't move.

"Holy shit," Beni breathed, staring down at the priest in shock as black-colored blood began to pool all around his head. The boy hurried over to Beni in frightened shock, grasping him about the middle and sobbing into his stomach desperately.

"Is he going to be alright? Is he?"

Beni struggled to free himself from the boy, eager to make his escape while he still could, but a moment later the door swung open again and a tall, stately deacon appeared. He frowned at Beni in confusion for only a moment before noticing the priest there on the floor, and Beni tried again vainly to pull free of the frightened boy's grasp.

The deacon dropped to the floor, leaning close to the priest and listening for the sound of his breath. He took a gentle hold of his shoulder and shook him. "Père...Père Jacques, can you hear me at all? It's Antoine Laurent. Père? Père?"

With a sigh, Antoine glanced up at Beni and the boy, more suspicious than curious. Beni gulped, taking in the deacon's broad shoulders and massive hands, and couldn't help but picture the way he would certainly be pummeled to death by such a man if he learned the real reason Beni was there.

"Who are you?" Antoine demanded.

"He is Père Francois," the boy said quickly, turning to stare up at Antoine with wide eyes but never letting go of Beni. "Monsignor Claude sent him."

Antoine frowned. "What happened to Père Jacques?"

At that the boy burst into tears. Antoine sighed impatiently and turned his dark eyes to Beni.

"He fell," Beni said, his voice squeaking a little. "He tripped on the boy's robe."

Antoine sighed again and looked at the old priest, shaking his head. "Well he is dead."

The boy let out a screeching cry that made Beni wince and Antoine say, "Jean, please."

"I killed him!" Jean wailed, crushing himself against Beni in a hard hug. Beni's eyes darted over to Antoine helplessly.

"My son," Antoine explained, and turned his attention to the boy, holding out an arm to him and saying in a gentler voice, "Jean...You did not kill him - Jean - "

Just as suddenly as he'd grasped onto Beni, Jean let go and bolted into Antoine's arms, clinging to the big man and sobbing inconsolably. Antoine picked the boy up and straightened to his full height, towering over Beni like a giant. He looked at Beni emphatically.

"Père, I hate to impose, but you have found us in the most dire circumstances. The congregation will be devastated to hear of Père Jacques' death, but...it is still Easter Sunday. Could I trouble you to lead the Mass?"

Beni gulped, a forced smile plastered across his face as he nodded his head and assured Antoine that Mass was no trouble - no trouble at all. Oh, of course he could preach a sermon. And of course Antoine would not usually ask him to preach on such a short notice, but yes, yes. It was Easter, after all. He is risen indeed!

And Antoine stood there thanking him profusely all the while, forcing him to put on all the vestments right there in front of him when Beni could have made an escape instead, and then he took Beni by the arm (while still carrying Jean in the other) and pulled him out into the sanctuary in front of everybody - the whole village of Auvers-sur-Oise - and told them of Père Jacques' unfortunate demise and Beni's (that is, Père Francois) blessed, angelic arrival, and Antoine led them all in a prayer of thanksgiving before finally taking that sniffling brat down to his mother where he belonged. A small group of people hastily followed Antoine back to the room to tend to Père Jacques, and Beni was left at the front of the church by himself.

And then Beni led Easter Mass.

He'd come into the Church at Auvers with a stolen clerical collar and every intention of making out with the beautiful Communion platter and cups, and if the altar boys were dumb enough, the offering as well. They would trust him if they saw the collar, and if he scared them enough with the gun, they wouldn't dare breathe a word of him being there. He'd done it before, in three Paris churches and one synagogue in a Jewish suburb with a name he couldn't recall. He'd done it before and a little church in a little village like Auvers should have been easy. But perhaps he should have known better, going to such a small town. Small town people were always so nosy and imposing, and they always remembered your name and your face. Perhaps he should have known better.

He rambled a homily, quoting bits and pieces of the hundreds of sermons he'd heard throughout his life, and while he was sure the message was convoluted at best, he knew that if he went on long enough, no one would even notice. That's how it always was with long sermons. Babies cried and a few elderly people snored, and he knew it didn't matter what he said, anyway. These simple village people would never see him again, he was certain.

And by the time he wrapped up the sermon and communion began, Beni started to feel rather pleased with himself. He was going to get away with this, after all. Even with old Père What's-His-Name bleeding on the floor in the other room. Even with that brat of an altar boy Jean arriving to the service too late and ruining everything. Even with big, frightening Antoine walking in on the whole thing. Even then. Beni was going to get away with this.

When the service ended he stood at the back of the church and sincerely thanked each and every parishioner for coming and bid them a blessed Easter, and the women grasped his hands and kissed them and told him what a perfect saint he was for stepping in to fill Père Jacques' shoes. The men clapped him on the back with their big, farmer's hands and said they appreciated him carrying on the Mass under such difficult circumstances, and asked him, had he been in the Great War? He looked like a fellow they knew in the Great War and only someone who'd been hardened by the trenches would have such a nerve to carry on a service so calmly -

"Will you be staying, Père Francois?" one blonde woman asked, and Beni just then noticed that she was carrying Jean sleeping in her arms, even though he was much too big a boy to be carried anymore.

Beni met her bright green eyes and hoped she didn't notice when he glanced down the neckline of her fluttery pink Easter dress.

"My Jean says that Monsignor sent you," she added, shuffling out of the way as a few more people slipped past. She just kept staring at him, and Beni smiled guiltily because he didn't know what else to do.

"Eh, um, of course," he said at last. He watched something like relief come over her face, and she drew just a little bit closer and lowered her voice.

"Will you be hearing confessions tomorrow?"

"Of course, of course."

She swallowed hard and nodded her head, a sad but pretty smile lighting her face. "Good. I am Dominique Laurent, by the way. Antoine is my husband."

As if the mere mention of his name should materialize him, Antoine appeared next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Pardon me, Dominique, but I must speak to Père."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded her head, wishing Beni a happy Easter before hurrying away from the church. Beni fought the urge to watch her legs as she left and turned his attention to Antoine's grave eyes.

"Père Jacques will be needing his last rites, and we must be discussing his funeral preparations."

Beni blinked. "Oh, but Monsieur, surely you would rather have a priest more familiar with your congregation perform the funeral - "

Antoine only raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Such as? Père Jacques has been our priest for nearly fifty years, and the priest before him has long been dead. There is only you...and Monsignor Claude, I suppose. But he will claim he is much too busy for such things."

Beni tried to mask the way his eyes widened in nervous fear, and his palms started to sweat as he stared up at Antoine, desperate to find some way out of this situation. Surely if he just kept agreeing to their demands, he could eventually make his escape this afternoon...

"Of course I will perform the funeral," Beni said. Antoine's face broke into a grin, and before Beni could stop him, the big man was wrapping him in a hug.

"Oh, forgive me, Père," he said when he finally released him. "You just do not know what a blessing you are to our little church here."

"Our sweetest blessing since Van Gogh," a coy, dark-eyed woman threw casually at them as she sauntered past. Antoine took her by the arm and pulled her over to them.

"Père, this is my sister Sophie," Antoine said. He gave her a sharp look. "You must forgive her sacrilege. She knows not what she does."

Sophie flashed him a little smile before turning her attention to Beni. "I did not think I was being so sacrilegious. You've seen the painting, have you not, Père? The one Van Gogh did of our little church. It's very famous."

Beni had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded his head knowingly. "Oh, yes, of course."

"I will get you a print," she declared. "I got one for Père Jacques but I do not think he liked it. He said it looked like a drunkard's dream, and I said to him, 'Père, do you not know who Van Gogh was? _Of course_ it is a drunkard's dream!'" She laughed, and Antoine eyed her. She pretended not to notice him. "I thought it was very clever but Père did not think so, and he did not like the print. But you'd like one, wouldn't you, Père?"

Sophie was pretty and the neckline of her dress was much too low for church, so Beni readily acquiesced. "Oh, yes."

"I thought so," she said with a wink. "I could just tell you were a man of class and fine taste. And speaking of fine taste, I trust that you invited him to our Easter dinner, Antoine?"

Antoine gaped wordlessly for a few embarrassed moments before finally turning to Beni apologetically; Sophie just giggled and put her hand (which Beni noticed was ringless) on his arm.

"Won't you join us, Père? The Laurent women are the finest cooks in Auvers. Ask anyone."

Antoine scoffed good-naturedly. "All except for you, Sophie."

She swatted him. "You shut your mouth, Antoine. I planned to tell Père that Dominique's pie was my own, and he would have believed it and been none the wiser." She turned to Beni again. "I really am an excellent cook. You'll see."

Beni just nodded his head, pushing away the nervous feeling that was gripping him. He couldn't make out so soon just yet, but perhaps tonight...And anyway, what harm could there be in going to Easter dinner with these people? He'd never been invited to a holiday dinner before and he was certainly hungry, and he knew how fond the French were of good wine, and from what he'd seen so far, the Laurent women were lovely. If he was subtle, perhaps no one would even notice him looking at them. They wouldn't suspect a priest of ogling women, anyway -

"Pardon me, Père."

Beni was shaken out of his thoughts by the appearance of another altar boy - this one older and gawkier than Jean - and the locked wooden box he held in his hands.

"I have the offertory for you."

Beni's eyes widened, and he tried not to snatch the box right out of the boy's hands. Sophie was telling him she'd see him at dinner, and Antoine was reminding him about Père Jacques' last rites, and it was then that it dawned on Beni.

He could just stay here.

He'd been to hundreds of church services in his life; he could lead a Mass in his sleep. And no one paid any attention to the sermon, anyway. These good Catholic people loved priests; they'd shower him with food and gifts and money - so much money, week after week. He was probably supposed to turn it over to the poor or some nonsense, but, well...Beni was poor, after all. He could stay a few weeks and make out before anyone even noticed that he was stealing the money. At the first sign of trouble, he'd run and never look back, the way he always did.

He walked happily behind Antoine back into the church, the offertory box clutched in his hands, and told him with sad, solemn eyes that he would need privacy while performing Père Jacques' last rites. Antoine nodded and left without a fuss, only pausing to let him know that he would have his horse and cart just outside to take him to his home for Easter dinner. Beni thanked him sadly and closed the door to the little room where Père Jacques now lay on a bench, his head cleaned and his hands folded for him on his chest.

It wasn't until just then that Beni realized he was in a room with a corpse alone, and a kind of panic overtook him. He took off his vestments hurriedly and didn't even bother to hang them back up, his eyes darting all about for fear that Père Jacques' ghost might appear before him.

"I'm not a priest," he whispered in Hungarian, trusting that spirits understood all languages. "I cannot perform your rites. But I will pray for your soul, I promise."

And after crossing himself a dozen times, Beni hurried out the door. He was almost to the church's entrance when he remembered that he still had that gun in his waistband. He stopped and whirled around, searching for any place he might be able to hide it. His eyes fell on the confessional booth, and he nearly ran across the room, stuffing the gun under the bench on the priest's side.

He shivered at the thought of Père Jacques sitting just there only the day before, perhaps even earlier that morning, and he couldn't seem to leave the church fast enough. But when he stepped back out into the sunlight again and saw Antoine and his pretty blonde wife Dominique waiting for him in their cart, he relaxed, and his fears about the soul of the priest melted away. Père Jacques seemed like a mean old man, and if his soul was in Purgatory, he probably deserved it. Beni wouldn't worry over him. Not when he had a heavy coffer box between his hands and the promise of an Easter feast at the Laurent farm.


	2. deux

_Author's Note: I really am going to update _The Fools_ this week. That's totally the next thing on the list._

_Disclaimer: The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios__. The cover photo is "The Church at Auvers" by Vincent Van Gogh._

* * *

**Le Diable**

* * *

**deux.**

Beni had never eaten so much in his life as he had at the Laurent farm. There was so much food and so, so much wine - but he barely felt the drowsy effects of Antoine's homegrown merlot for all the food in his stomach. He thought he would burst after the roast lamb and soup and all of that bread, but then Sophie brought him out a fat slice of strawberry pie and asserted emphatically that she really did make it and insisted that he try it so that he could tell Antoine that she wasn't such a dreadful cook after all. And then there was coffee and brandy and everyone kept telling him he needed to eat more.

_"Mon Dieu,_ you're so thin I can almost see through you!" Antoine's mother or aunt or some elder woman declared, and Sophie said:

"Well, _cherie_, you know these poor priests have no one to cook or care for them."

Antoine had scratched his dark beard and frowned at her. "Priests have God. They do not need women."

But Sophie only waved her hand. "Nonsense. Did you know, priests get married in the Greek church and in those Protestant churches, and we Romans are the only ones who don't let them marry?"

"That is because we are the only true church," Antoine told her severely, and that was the end of it, even though Sophie rolled her eyes. She got up from the table and started collecting dishes, and Beni liked the way she bent low enough for him to glance down her dress when she took his. She noticed but didn't mind, and glanced nonchalantly across the table at her sister-in-law.

"Dominique, won't you help me with these?"

Dominique startled, but quickly got out of her chair and rounded the table, shooing off other offers of help.

"I think we can manage," Sophie said with a little smile, looping her arm through Dominique's as they slipped down the hallway and into the kitchen. Beni turned his attention to his glass of brandy, but when he brought it to his lips the smell made him nauseous, and he came to the unpleasant realization that he'd simply ate more rich food than his starving belly could handle. He murmured an excuse and asked where the bathroom was, and Antoine spent entirely too long boasting about the indoor bath and toilet he'd installed himself in the century-old stone farmhouse before finally telling Beni that it was down the hall just past the kitchen.

He felt too sick to even remember that he ought to thank Antoine and bolted down the hallway, throwing open the bathroom door and reaching the toilet just in time. He retched up all of the marvelous food and wine, kicking himself for eating more than he knew he could handle. He hovered over the toilet and hated the Laurents for their casual wealth, for their quaint little farm and an Easter feast they could gorge on without getting ill. He'd always hated people like them, though he might have begrudgingly admitted that there was something pleasant about being welcomed into their midst. He might have wondered why it had never occurred to him to pose as a priest before. Pious people like this couldn't possibly turn away a priest; they had to welcome him in, even if he was shifty and unlikable. They had to welcome him in, and they had to at least pretend to like him, and Beni couldn't remember a time he'd been treated better in all of his life.

If only he hadn't eaten so much.

When at last he was certain there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit, he straightened and looked at himself in the mirror. His whole body trembled from getting ill and his eyes were bloodshot, but he took a breath and set to making himself look presentable - at least as presentable as he could manage to look.

He'd shaved that morning in preparation for his stunt at the church; even though he'd never meant to be noticed by anyone but a frightened altar boy or two, it still never hurt to look a little less like a desperate criminal. But even with a clean shaven (or mostly clean shaven; he never shaved his moustache) face, he still looked dubious, with his thin face and wide, hollow eyes. He supposed that was just it, though. Priests were so often strange-looking men, the sort that had resigned themselves to a lifetime of celibacy whether they were men of the cloth or not, and perhaps with a clerical collar everyone just assumed Beni was another such homely man, content to serve God since no woman would ever have him.

Breathing a sigh, he decided that this was certainly the case, and that no one was the wiser for his suspicious appearance. He left the bathroom and started down the hall, and just by chance happened to glance into the kitchen, which was visible only through a small crack where the door hadn't quite closed. Dominique was putting dishes in the sink, her long, golden hair piled on top of her head. She was saying something very softly and had a serious expression on her face, and just before Beni grew bored of watching her, Sophie crossed over to her, took Dominique's face between her hands and kissed her on the mouth.

Beni knew French people liked to kiss each other, usually on the cheek as a greeting. He'd seen other women kiss each other on the mouth, too, but not that way. Sisters might peck lips out of habit or affection, but Sophie was kissing Dominique like a man might; like a man certainly would, with an arm about her waist to pull her closer, hard and urgent. Beni couldn't decide if he was perturbed or amused, or even aroused, but he watched them curiously for a moment just to see if Dominique would push Sophie away. She didn't; at least not before someone from the dining room spotted Beni and beckoned Père Francois over.

The evening went on without any event, and Antoine insisted that Beni stay in his house because no one was sober enough to take him to the parish, and it would be odd for him to have to sleep at Père Jacques' house, anyway, with all of his things there. Being reminded of the dead priest sent a shiver up Beni's spine and he agreed to sleep in Antoine's guest room.

After sleeping much too late the next morning, Beni was informed that a seemingly endless list of people had busied themselves with cleaning out the parish house for him. Someone knew someone else who was related to Père Jacques' sister by marriage, or something, and they'd be sure to get his effects there. Antoine took him up to the parish house, which was situated just behind the church - a humble little cottage made of matching white brick - and told him he might have a look around the place before going over to the church to hear confessions.

"Dominique has been insisting that she go to confession today," Antoine told him, a severe wrinkle between his heavy, dark brows. "She is a very pious woman, and something must be on her heart. I will be back with her in about an hour, and you will be at the church?"

He'd asked it as a question, but his voice had only barely rose to indicate it, and it was all Beni could do to bobble his head and assure him that he'd be ready to hear Dominique's confession whenever she arrived. Antoine grunted and Beni hopped out of the cart, casting a wary glance at Antoine's enormous farm horses snorting and pawing the ground in what seemed to be agitation, at least to Beni. Animals never really liked him much, and he made a point of avoiding the larger ones as a matter of principle.

He hurried up the walk and threw open the door, expecting the house to be bustling with all of those fine townspeople supposedly cleaning the place for him, but when he stepped into the parlor he found himself quite alone in the quiet. The floors were clean and bare and freshly swept, and the humble furniture carefully situated near the windows must have been in the house for a hundred years. Beni glanced around shiftily, partially out of habit and partially because he was still quite afraid of seeing Père Jacques' ghost. He would feel much better when the man was in the ground where he belonged.

Once he was reasonably certain that there weren't any spirits lurking about, he crept across the room and stole down the hall. He was curious whether or not the parish had running water or if he'd have to pump it himself from a well somewhere, and he was hoping he might find a bathroom. He took a turn into the first room and was too startled to discover he wasn't alone to be disappointed that it was only an office.

He let out a little yelp and the woman in the room turned to look at him, a huge framed painting grasped between her hands. She met his eyes and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Père."

Beni swallowed, still trying to regain his composure after the surprise of discovering her there. "Good afternoon, Sophie."

She glanced away from him to admire the painting she was holding. "It turns out old Père Jacques did not despise Van Gogh or me so much after all. He kept the print, though it wasn't hanging anywhere. I found it in the corner there and I thought I would dust it off for you." She turned it towards him again, taking a little breath as she held it up a bit higher. "I bought him this big ornate frame because he seemed like the sort who would like it. But as a man of taste, I assume you would much prefer something more clean and modern,_ non?"_

Beni thought the heavy gold-leafed frame looked expensive, and that alone made it quite appealing to him, but he wasn't going to argue with a woman whose blouse was unbuttoned just a little too low - especially one with the nerve to kiss her brother's wife like that.

"Oh, eh, yes."

"I thought so," she said, putting the picture down on the floor and giving it a severe kind of look that distinctly reminded Beni of Antoine. "It's a heavy, ugly old thing, but old men always like that heavy Victorian nonsense."

Beni just nodded his head and leaned in the doorway. "Where is everybody else?"

Sophie shrugged. "Here and there...Some of them got hungry and went for lunch, and Marie and her girls took all the sheets and curtains to be washed...Am I the only one left?"

"As far as I can tell."

She smiled in her coy little way. "Good. I always would rather be alone with someone." She glanced at the picture again and let out a little sigh, pulling a rag from out of her apron and fixing her attention on the bookshelves. She only just glanced at him out of the corner of her eye when she said, "May I ask you something, Père?"

Beni immediately felt nervous, but hid it in a casual shrug. He could lie his way out of whatever she was about to ask him, he was sure of it.

"If you don't mind," she said. "And I would never tell. But you strike me as the sort of priest I could ask. Have you _really_ never been with a woman?"

Something about her tone was condescending, and Beni's instinct was to defensively retort that he'd been with plenty - but then he remembered that he needed to be kind, pious Père Francois and shook his head gravely.

"Of course not."

Sophie raised her eyebrows, and turned away from the books to look him in the eye curiously. "Really? Not ever? Not even before you took your vows?"

"No."

She stared at him in something like fascinated amusement, crossing her arms over her chest and forgetting about the rag and the dusty old books altogether.

"Well have you ever kissed a woman before?"

Beni put a hand on his heart and looked at her with wide, honest eyes. "Only my dear, sweet mother."

Sophie's brows furrowed up studiously, and she took a step towards him, scratching her chin as she considered his words. "Well haven't you ever wanted to?"

Beni blinked. He wasn't sure of the right answer now, and didn't know what a priest would say. But Sophie only smiled.

"I will take your silence as a yes, then."

Beni cleared his throat and said the first thing that occurred to him, "I do not concern myself with such things."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to kiss me? Right now?"

He stared at her in her unbuttoned blouse, with her black hair pulled away from her face and her wide, dark eyes, and before he could think to remind himself of his con or the money in the coffer box or anything else, Sophie wound her arm around his neck and kissed him just the very same way he'd seen her kiss Dominique only the night before. He took her by the waist and pulled her closer to him, and she didn't seem to mind at all. When their lips parted, she gazed up at him and smiled.

"I've always wanted to do that," she whispered breathlessly. "Corrupt a priest." She pulled herself from his arms and returned casually to her dusting, that coquettish little smirk never leaving the corner of her mouth. "Though I would hardly consider it corruption. The way I see it, we are baptized Catholic so we cannot go to Hell, but even you with your vows stand a slim chance of going straight to Heaven...So if we are going to Purgatory either way, what's a few hundred more years there for a kiss?"

Beni let out a short laugh, and her pretty eyes flashed over to his. "I will be out of Purgatory in no time, anyway," she added. "When I die everyone will say, 'Ah! That poor, lost little soul! If we don't pray for her now, she will never make it to Heaven!' I'll be out of there in two weeks."

She glanced up at him curiously. "Now aren't you going to tell me to say a dozen Hail, Marys for that? Père Jacques would not tolerate any such talk."

Beni only shrugged. "Sure. Go do them."

Sophie smiled. "How many?"

"A dozen."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

She shrugged and told him, "I'll do them later. I have a million others to do, anyway."

Beni watched her carefully for a moment, and he could tell that she knew he was watching her, but she pretended not to.

"Why would you have so many to do?" he asked. She kept to her dusting and started humming a little tune. "For kissing your sister-in-law?"

The dust cloth slipped from her hands, and for a moment Sophie could only manage to stare at him in something like surprise. But then she blinked and that startled look left her eyes, and she bent down to pick up the cloth like she'd dropped it merely by accident.

"Now why would I have to do penance for such a harmless thing as that?" she asked him in a voice that was a little less sure than she must have meant it to be.

Beni smirked in his ugly sort of way. "That would depend on how you kissed her, _non?"_

Sophie's shoulders jerked in a shrug. "French women love to kiss. I kiss everyone. I kissed you, didn't I?"

"You kiss everyone like you kissed me?" he said, barely containing a scoff.

Sophie just stared back at him, biting at her bottom lip uncertainly.

"I saw you and Dominique last night," he said.

Sophie cleared her throat and tried to busy herself with dusting, but she never really got to it. Her fingers just kept twisting the rag between her hands instead.

"So?" she murmured.

Beni raised his eyebrows, feeling a kind of smug satisfaction, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because he was so often the one on the other side of an interrogation - so often the one squirming in a desperate attempt to hide his guilt. And he liked the way Sophie looked when she squirmed.

"Do you prefer women to men?" he asked her.

She pressed her lips together and glanced up at him airily. "I prefer some women to men and some men to women, and I prefer Van Gogh to everybody."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes. And I answered your question." She crossed her arms over her chest and watched him, and he saw her creeping suspicion even before her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. "What are you going to do now, Père? Report me to Monsignor?"

Beni blinked. "Uh, yes. That is what I will do."

"Wouldn't you rather hear my confession and absolve me instead?"

His eyes narrowed back at hers. "I think I would rather report you to the Monsignor."

"Monsignor Claude or Monsignor Jean-Luc?"

"Claude," Beni snapped, feeling almost itchy with discomfort from the way she was watching him.

"But of course," she said. "He is the one who sent you, _non?"_

"Yes."

She stared back at him hard, and for a moment there was only the sound of their breathing, eyeing one another in steeped suspicion.

"Where is it you're from, Père?"

Beni cleared his throat and shifted against the doorway. "Marseille."

"You have a curious accent for a Marseille man."

Beni glared at her, but she only gazed back at him with a vacant sort of expression.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Père; we can't all be French. Where do you come from?"

He breathed an impatient sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "That does not matter. You should be a lot more concerned about what the Monsignor will do about you."

Sophie raised her eyebrows, and she seemed to be fighting that coy little smirk that was always in the corner of her mouth. She crossed the room over to him and took him by the hand.

"Oh, but I_ am,_ Père," she said in a voice that was just a little too penitent. "And I will be waiting for his arrival, which I'm sure will be quite soon, since you seem like such a prompt fellow. Perhaps when he arrives, I can discuss with him where you came from, since you insist on being so secretive about it."

Beni stared at her with wide eyes and she gazed back at him evenly, that annoying smirk tugging at her mouth. From across the house, they heard the front door swing open and rattle shut again, and they both startled. Beni felt sick at the sound of Antoine's voice calling for him. Sophie let go of his hand, but she leaned just close enough to whisper in his ear:

"You kiss very well for a man who's never done it before."

He gaped at her but Sophie said nothing, and wandered past him down the hall.

"He's in the study, Antoine, _mon amour,"_ he heard Sophie say. A moment later her brother appeared, staring down at Beni with his severe, urgent eyes.

"Dominique is at the church. You will go and hear her confession now, Père?"

Beni squeaked that he would, of course, his eyes flitting nervously between Antoine and Sophie. He hated how casual she looked, standing there with that dusty rag still in her hand and her blouse unbuttoned much too low. A few stray hairs had fallen into her eyes but she didn't seem the least bothered by them, and she gazed back at him coolly as if they'd spent their time alone in the study saying nothing to each other at all. He hated her and he wanted nothing more than to get away from her, but he was much too afraid of leaving her alone with her brother, when she might say anything at all to arouse his suspicions about Beni.

"Perhaps you would like to join me and light those candles for Père Jacques like you were talking about, Sophie," he said emphatically.

Sophie raised her eyebrows and started to retort that she had a lot of dusting yet to do, but Antoine interrupted her. "Yes, you really ought to, Sophie. You of all people owe Père a candle and a few prayers."

She glanced up at him irritably but Antoine's expression would not be trifled with, and before she could have a chance to argue with her brother, Beni grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the house with him. Sophie stumbled along beside him, jerking her arm out of his grasp when she finally regained her own balance. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared as she strode across the lawn next to him, shooting him cruel looks all the way.

"I'm not sure how things are done in Marseille, but here in Auvers priests don't grab women."

Beni snorted. "Well where I am from, women don't kiss each other on the mouth."

"And _where_ was it you're from, again?"

Beni didn't answer her and walked a little faster.

"I suppose I will just have to ask the Monsignor when he arrives."

He stopped suddenly and turned to look at her, grim and impatient. "Perhaps I won't tell Monsignor about you and Dominique. Perhaps I will tell Antoine instead."

Sophie froze and stared at him, her eyes wide in horror. "You can't do that."

"I can and I should. A man has a right to know where his wife has been."

She swallowed hard and glanced down, staring at her feet for a moment before looking into his eyes again. "You can do whatever you want to me and I don't care. Tell the Monsignor I've been with a hundred women, and men - and - and - sheep, for all I care. But you cannot do that to Dominique. You can't tell Antoine. He'll ruin her."

She was squirming again. Beni smirked. "She has already ruined herself."

"He'll take Jean away from her," Sophie said a little more desperately, taking him by the hand. "She wants to confess to you; she never had the nerve to confess to Père Jacques but she will to you. Please. All she wants is to be forgiven and be a good wife to my brother again. You must forgive her and forget about this."

Beni's eyes narrowed. "I don't_ have_ to do anything."

Sophie shook her head, staring at him in shock and disgust. "Are you not a man of God? Why did Monsignor send a man like you to us?"

Beni turned from her and started walking again; they were nearly to the backdoor of the church and he could just about grasp the doorknob -

"Monsignor did not send you at all, did he?"

Beni whirled around, staring at her with wide, startled eyes for a moment before remembering himself. He tried to play his surprise off as incredulousness.

"Of course Monsignor sent me."

"Then why?"

"That is none of your business."

She stared at him for what felt like a very long time, and asked quietly, "Who are you?"

Beni breathed an impatient sigh and stalked back over to her, pointing a threatening finger in her face. "I am Père Francois, and I'm from Marseille, and if you don't shut up and stop asking me questions, I will tell everyone in this boring little village that you've been screwing your sister-in-law - however you make that work without a dick - "

"I'm sure you would _love_ to know."

"It would certainly help when I am explaining to Antoine what a disgrace his wife is."

Sophie let out an aggravated huff and slapped him hard across his face. Beni yelped and reached up to touch his cheek; she'd caught him low on his face and across his mouth, and he was sure he could taste blood on his lips as he stood there glaring at her in shock. He spat the crudest Hungarian curses he could think of at her feet and started stalking back towards the parish house.

"Where are you going?" Sophie demanded, though her voice shook with fear.

"I'm telling Antoine about you and Dominique," he retorted.

She sucked in a nervous breath and lunged for his arm. "Père, you can't - please - "

Beni dragged her along with him as he kept trudging towards the house. "Well I am. Maybe you should not have been such a mean little bitch."

"Père - Francois - listen to me." She managed to pull him to a halt and stared up at him with wild, desperate eyes. "Please don't do this. I don't know who you are or if Monsignor sent you or if you are even a priest at all, but please. I'll do anything at all if you will just hear Dominique's confession and tell her she's forgiven. She doesn't even want me anymore. Don't ruin her. She's a good person. Perhaps I am not, but she is. And I cannot stand for her to be ruined on my account. Please, Père, I'll do anything."

Beni didn't want to accept her offer. He wanted to tell her she could go to hell for splitting his lip and that he'd rather have the satisfaction of telling Antoine that his wife was whoring around with another woman. He wanted to tell her she was useless to him - that she had nothing at all to offer that was better than the opportunity to ruin Dominique.

But that wasn't true.

Beni didn't know Dominique and he didn't care whether she was ruined or not; he found something amusing about the fact that a man as big and brawny as Antoine apparently couldn't satisfy his own wife, but he didn't really care whether Antoine knew his wife's secret or not. Beni really didn't even care enough about Sophie to want to ruin her; she was annoying and he hated her, but he wasn't so determined to ruin her that he would forego common sense.

"Alright," he said after a moment, a grim smile creeping up his face. "I would like it if you took alms to the poor for me."

Sophie blinked in confusion. "Alms? You mean from the offertory?"

"Yes."

"That is all you want?"

Beni shrugged, doing his best to keep a casual expression. If Sophie was the one who delivered the alms, then Sophie was the one who would be blamed when people started to notice that they were missing. By the time the whole mess was sorted out, Beni would be long gone.

Sophie nodded. "Well, alright. My brother will drop dead to see me doing churchwork...I suppose this is your way of getting a depraved sinner such as myself to come around to a more pious manner of living?" She looked up at him, and that little smirk crept into the corner of her mouth again. "I must admit, I thought you would tell me I had to sleep with you."

Beni's eyes widened in an exaggerated display of shock. "Mademoiselle Laurent, I am a man of the cloth!"

A strange look came over her face that he couldn't quite read, though the coy smile never left her face.

"Perhaps you are," she said quietly.


End file.
